


Physical Training

by wargoddess



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Flirting, Bioticjob?, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Requited Love, There's A Tag For That, There's actually a tag called There's A Tag For That, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:15:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1910556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wargoddess/pseuds/wargoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not the first time James Vega has questioned his sexuality.  It's just that... well... shit. ETA: Now listen-able as podfic by gwyllgi!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Podfic version here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12053772

     It's not the first time that James Vega has questioned his sexuality. He spends his days surrounded by humanity's finest, after all, nice tight asses and taut lined abs and firm smooth deltoids and graceful deadliness; he might like that list ending with "and nice soft breasts just the perfect size for hands" more than "and an expanse of pectorals as broad as the Mojave", but it's not like he doesn't notice the pectorals. Beauty's beauty, man, even on a man.

     It's just that -- shit. Well.

     Lots of people work out in the cargo hold. As amazing a ship as _the Normandy_ is, for some dumbass reason Cerberus didn't think to design a PT facility into it, and the Alliance didn't fix the lack during the retrofit. So James is used to seeing crew members come down to jog back and forth between the inner and outer launch doors, or slap down some push-ups near the spare shuttle, or whatever. Chakwas does yoga with Traynor behind the heavy weapons. Joker uses the spare shuttle to go through this weird contortion of low-impact stuff that looks like it ought to break his bones even though it's apparently designed not to. Even the non-Alliance crew do it, though James tries not to watch them, because if there's ever a time when aliens seem uh _alien_ it's when they're exercising muscle groups that humans don't possess, and turning limbs in directions that make his own ache in phantom sympathy.

     It's cool. James just ignores most of it, as long as people don't get in the way, and most of them don't. Only a few of the exercisers merit his further attention. Shepard comes down to do pull-ups on James' bars; only she and Cortez have earned the right to do this, as far as James is concerned. Cortez gets his eye because Cortez is training to increase his full-G strength after too many years in a pilot's chair, and James has been helping him with that.

     And then there's the Major. Kaidan Alenko.

     Shit.

     Alenko does a full spacer-PT course: push-ups, squats, sit-ups, all the old-fashioned stuff meant to strengthen muscles and prevent bone loss. He finishes it off with a run back and forth through the cargo bay, thirty times -- that's just one mile, but he's doing it at speed, and he does it every damned day, not just the standard three or four days a week. And --

     -- and James notices. Fuck, does he.

     It's just. The Major's so. _Compact_. Not like Cortez, who's a big guy folded into a little guy package, or Shepard, who's a little woman who carries herself like a goddamned monster. Alenko's exactly as big as he needs to be: not a proportion out of place, not a gram too big or too little. It's all of him: not a hair out of place. Not a facial expression out of turn. When he runs, there's none of the torque-wasting motion James has seen in other people (and himself, 'cause he fucking hates running). Alenko runs like a goddamn panther. All coiled push, all measured pace. He makes a flat-out sprint in full armor look easy.

     It's beautiful, really. And the first time James' dick gets hard at the sight, he knows he's in trouble.

     He plays it off, though. Just been too long, under too much tension. When he hits the showers that evening, deliberately going early so there's a good chance no one else will come in, he makes sure to jerk off, and he resolutely keeps his thoughts on stuff that's approved jerk-off material. Shepard's tits. Liara's ass. That guy back in boot camp, the one who was fucking gorgeous and wildly devoted to his boyfriend back home. And those images work fine, no problem there, the mental image of his tongue on firm dark nipples sends all the right sparks down into his cock, great, so he lets the mental visual pull back a little so that he can imagine peeling apart Shepard's legs and going in for dinner --

     Except suddenly the chest flattens, and the hips that unfold before his inner eye are squared, not curved. And when he pushes those long smooth legs apart, what calls to his tongue like a siren is a curving, heavy, shiny-headed cock, nestled amid the blackest of curls.

     He comes before he can yank his thoughts back on track, and curses even as he shudders it off.

     Trouble. Yeah.

     It would be bad enough if it was just physical, but he notices more than that. In meetings, Kaidan is brief and to the point, even his gestures of punctuation economical. His plans are equally quick and compact, his arguments to the point and elegant. He makes James feel like a lumbering clod. Except now and again he looks at James -- usually when James has offered what little insight or observation he can, at this table full of heroes and geniuses -- and smiles, or gives him an approving nod, and it makes James feel amazing.

     He shouldn't feel like that. _Shepard_ doesn't even make him feel like that. What the hell.

     It's bad enough that Cortez comes over one day, after Alenko's finished his workout and gone. "Want to put your tongue back in, Mr. Vega? He might trip over it during his run."

     James flinches, and hunches, turning back to his modding table. "Didn't want you to see."

     Cortez sidles over to the side of the little alcove James calls his "office," leaning against the wall near the weights. "Why not?"

     James shrugs, awkwardly. It's hard to articulate. "I just... I don't know, man. I figured... it would be _you_. Y'know? That's kinda... I don't know, if I was gonna, I wanted someone I... shit."

     Cortez is silent for a moment. James doesn't know what this means; he's too embarrassed to look at his friend. "Y'know, Mr. Vega," Cortez says at last, and at least he's not laughing, at least he just sounds warm and kind, "I'm flattered. But I'm pretty sure I'm not your type, and you're not really mine. Alenko, though..." He grins, and James feels his cheeks heat. "You have good taste, at least. If I didn't like you, you'd have some competition there."

     James grimaces. "I can't, man. He ranks me by, like, a lot. He's a Spectre! And he's -- older, and -- " He makes an awkward shape with his hands, trying to illustrate the problem; Cortez just looks confused. Then his expression sobers, and James braces himself, though he's not quite sure for what.

     "The Alliance, for all intents and purposes, doesn't exist anymore," Cortez says. "We're pretending that it does. Earth is gone. We might get it back, but for now, it's _not ours_. Your N7 invitation? Dust in the wind. The supplies I've been requisitioning? We have to _pay_ for that; Shepard's been financing the whole ship out of funds she's scraping up everywhere. A little of that money's coming from Hackett and Udina, but most of it she's been stealing off open networks in half-wrecked buildings."

     James has seen her do it. "Uh, well, yeah."

     "So the regs don't matter, as long as nothing interferes with our mission. Age doesn't matter -- hell, Vega, you know Shepard slept with that merc, and he's _Hackett's_ age. _It's the end of civilization_. Do you follow me?"

     "Yeah, man, I do, but -- "

     "But you're making excuses."

     "But that shit matters!" Finally turning to him, James spreads his hands, as much to stop the onslaught as to explain. "It matters to him! He's the by-the-book type, comprende? Also, I don't even know how to _talk_ to him, man! What the hell do you even _say_ to a guy?"

     Cortez is staring at him, an expression of _Have You Always Been This Stupid Or Did You Get This Way Recently, And If The Latter How Did I Not Notice_ plain on his face. "What do people say to _you_ when they want you?"

     He shrugs, embarrassed again, and unsure how to tell Cortez that it's been so long since he did more than flirt that he barely remembers how the rest of the courtship dance goes. Who was the last one? Lorna, maybe? Wait, no, it had been Chloe, from that N2 Sentinel team on Luna -- "C'mere, big guy, let's relieve some stress?"

     Cortez winces. "Yeah, I don't think that would go over well with the Major."

     "I _know_. I'm not stupid, see? I just -- " He takes a deep breath, runs a hand over his fauxhawk. "Okay, what I don't understand is how to talk to _this_ man. Or even if I should. Now do you get it?"

     "Yeah, I get it." Cortez sighs. "But the _whether_ part isn't the problem; it's the _how_ that is."

     "The hell you say." The _whether_ part is pretty damned huge as problems go, too.

     "End of civilization."

     And James doesn't want to meet his maker never having tried for what he wanted. "Yeah. Okay. Fine. So, how, then?"

     Cortez shrugs. "Play to your strengths. Treat him the way you do everybody else. See if he likes it."

     "But what if -- " He's sounding like a kid. Crap. "Yeah, okay."

     "Such resolve," Cortez teases. But they both know James is committed, now.

     _Play to your strengths_ , Cortez said. And -- well, there is one thing. He has no reason to strike up a convo with the Major anywhere else on the ship; Alenko doesn't play cards, doesn't often eat in the mess, and spends a lot of time obviously wanting to be alone in the Obs lounge. Guy's an introvert, okay -- and James is an extravert, and he knows full well he's too much for most people. But maybe...

     He waits 'til Alenko's next workout. Watches 'til after he's done his push-ups, a full hundred of them over four sets. Lets his eyes play over the ripple of muscle along the man's shoulders and back, the way his ass clenches -- Shit. No. _Eyes on the prize, Vega. The other prize, anyway_.

     He's casual about it as he sidles over, resolutely not looking anywhere but at Alenko's face as the man gets up and mops away sweat. "Hey, Major -- " Shit. He hadn't meant to mention rank. Shit.

     But Alenko blinks and turns to him. "Can't get used to that. It's been two years since the promotion and I keep hearing Ash in my head, calling me 'LT.'"

     And now James has reminded him of his dead friend and maybe ex-girlfriend. Shit shit shit. "Yeah, I know the feeling. When they promoted me after Fehl Prime -- " Nope. Not going there. "Well. Yeah. Anyway, I was just coming to say, um, I always see you working your traps like they hurt. Push-ups aren't going to help that."

     Almost habitually, Alenko reaches up to massage his left trapezius. "Oh. Uh, yeah. Sometimes I lock up in the neck and shoulders. Implant feedback. I'm used to it."

     Yeah, it's how James can tell when another of Alenko's headaches is impending. Alenko's been doing it for the past day. "Well -- " He jabs a thumb toward his "office" over on the side of the cargo bay. "You're welcome to use my rig for some pullups. That might even help your head."

     Alenko blinks and finally really looks at him, and James is caught for a second in eyes like the redwood forests back home, all deep and brown and come-deeper.

     _Madre de dios, I've got it bad_.

     "That's mighty generous of you, Lieutenant," Alenko says, once James' heart restarts. "I was under the impression only Shepard got privileges on that."

     "Well, yeah." James grins, feeling on safe ground again. "She's my CO, gotta kiss ass, right? Also, she can _kick_ my ass. But -- " He shrugs, tries to resist, decides _play to your strengths_ probably includes admitting your CO is smokin' hot. And, maybe -- "I just like watching her on the bar, really. Figure you'd be fun to watch, too."

     Alenko chuckles, then pauses. There's a minute shift to his features, a fleeting uncertainty in those eyes, and James' belly clenches. Then Alenko's smile relaxes, and he shakes his head. "I'll try not to put on a comedy show for you, then. It's been awhile since I made PT pullup regs."

     They go over to the cave, and it's heaven, a dream, that James can settle back against the table and fold his arms and ogle openly while Alenko limbers up and then takes to the bar. He's fucking beautiful, long and straight, and James wishes he wasn't wearing a shirt. And -- wait. James frowns and straightens. "Whoa, there, MM. Mind some advice?"

     Kaidan drops to the ground, catching his breath, and looking at James quizzically. "MM?"

     "Major Marine." He grins, tries not to look sheepish. "Since you said you liked LT, before. I know it's not as catchy -- "

     "No." Alenko's smiling again. He shouldn't smile so much; it's _doing things_ to James. "I like it." That does more things to James. "Advice about what?"

     He swallows, tells himself to cool the fuck down, play it off, be cool. "Your form, man, it's all wonky. Hop up again, let me show you something."

     Alenko blinks, then shrugs and complies. He's wearing old fatigue-pants, the kind with the built-in athletic support, but his shirt is just an old t-shirt, not nearly as stretchy as proper fatigues. It rides up out of his pants as he does this, and the pants sag low, baring his lower abdominals and navel. He's an innie. It takes everything James has not to lick his lips. He comes over, has to stammer once to speak. "Can I, uh," and he holds up his hands on either side of Alenko's body -- one over the small of his back, the other above that beautiful bare belly.

     "Huh? Oh. Sure."

     James puts his hand on Alenko's belly and back, and fights not to swallow. Alenko's so fucking smooth. His skin's so fucking soft. Aren't Canadians supposed to be hairy, like bears, or something? "Pull up and hold."

     Alenko complies, and the movement is smooth, but -- yeah. That's the problem.

     "You're not using your abs enough," James says, momentarily forgetting lust amid professionalism. "Or your back. Everybody talks smack about pullups being nothing but arms, but in reality they're a whole-body exercise, like planks moving in a vertical line. You have to tighten your core, here." He presses in on Alenko's belly, and feels it twitch in reaction. "Yeah, like that. And curve your hips forward a little, y'know, like you're fucking."

     The words are out before he's thought about them. Oh, shit, shit, shit.

     "Like I'm -- " Alenko lets out a laugh, and drops. He's still hanging, but it's clear James has broken his concentration. "I don't know if that's the thought I want to have in mind while I'm doing PT, Vega."

     Vega. Not Lieutenant. Whoa. Okay. _Run with it, then, you big dumbass_.

     "Yeah," James says, grinning. "Like... like you've got some hottie up against the wall, all open and ready for you, and you can't use your hands. Just this." He presses Alenko's middle again, for emphasis. "Get your spine straight, everything in alignment, then focus on your hips, not your abs. Keep your legs straight, braced apart. Only your dick's free, man, so send it where it wants to be."

     Alenko snickers again -- but he pulls up again, doing it right this time. James makes himself let go and backs off, grinning in pleasure as Alenko starts doing a full set of twelve. He's struggling at the end, clearly, but he finishes, and when he makes the last one James claps once and whoops. "Yeah. _That's_ the way to do it, man!"

     Alenko drops then, panting and running with sweat, but he's grinning, and James is so proud. "Gonna feel that tomorrow."

     "You'll be pulling twenty before you know it, man." That was the baseline for N7s.

     "Maybe so, with you to egg me on." Alenko's looking at him, eyes wandering. James is pretty sure it doesn't mean anything when he says, "You look like you could eat twenty for breakfast, though."

     James can, but he's not gonna brag. "Yeah, but I'm a grunt. I don't have biotics or anything else to offer; just me and my guns. Both kinds."

     "Both impressive." He's actually looking James up and down. Whoa. And -- holy hell. Alenko's got his hands on his hips, and are his pants tented at the front? Can't be. Doesn't mean anything, even if it is. James fumbles for a distraction so that he'll stop staring, and so the moment will stop being awkward.

     "So, how's the head?"

     Alenko's eyebrows rise. "How did you know I was working on a migraine?"

     James shrugs, awkwardly. "Your traps, like I said. Doing pull-ups right usually stretches 'em out nice."

     Alenko turns his head to one side, then the other, experimentally. Then he flexes his shoulders, and blinks. It's a surprised, pleased blink. "Better. Thanks."

     "Anytime, man."

     "So, was I any fun to watch?"

     James is pinned by the question. He blurts out the truth because he can't think of anything else to say. "Fuck yeah. But you're always fun to watch, MM." Maybe it will pass as just banter between teammates.

     Alenko's eyes flick up, catch and examine his, and James grows still. Alenko's smile fades. James thinks, _Oh, shit, that didn't sound like banter between teammates at all, did it?_ Shit, shit, shit. He's not sure he can take it if Alenko pulls away now, after such an amazing morning, before James has had time to head back to his bunk and savor the memory.

     Alenko looks thoughtful. Then he says, with perfect nonchalance, "I'm not much for watching, myself."

     Oh. "Oh." _What the fuck does that mean?!_

     Alenko nods, still with that contemplative look on his face. "More of a hands-on kind of guy, really." He flexes one hand, where he's probably started blisters, and James wishes he'd offered Alenko his gloves. "Didn't realize you were the same, before today."

     Wait. "Always up for a challenge from any direction," he replies. It's banter, it's easy. But wait.

     Alenko "hmmphs", but it sounds more considering than scornful. "Sure you don't want a more, uh, conventional challenge?"

     Was that...? James licks his lips because he can't help it. "No, _sir_. Life's too fucking short."

     "Yeah. That it is." Alenko's sober now, looking away, thinking of God knows what. They've all been through hell. But then he glances back at James, and that thoughtful look is back. "Later, Lieutenant. Let's, uh, talk exercise again, sometime."

     He heads off, and James is too poleaxed to stare after his ridiculously perfect ass.

     Did he just?

     Was that just?

     He _did_.

     It _was_.

     James sits back against his modding table, trying to process, and failing. Cortez saunters over and leans against the wall with his arms folded and a deceptively innocent look on his face. James stares back at him, openmouthed.

     "Gotta hand it to you," Cortez says, "I thought you were going too far, too fast. But flirting _is_ one of your strengths, I'd say. And going too far -- yeah, that's being yourself, all right."

     James nods, struck dumb.

     "I'd say he likes it," Cortez adds, gently.

     " _Fuckin'-A_ he does," James blurts.

     "Then, if I can suggest, maybe you should research a detailed exercise plan for the Major? In case he wants more tips."

     Exercise. The image that comes into James' mind is of himself in a bed with Alenko, mouth on mouth, breath and legs entangled, and his dick _aches_ because he wants it so bad. Jesus, he's not even sure what to do with his dick should that imagining come to pass; maybe he should be researching more than exercise plans. Or maybe he should imagine something slower, yeah, something more befitting the Major, like steady massages and winding tongue-strokes and the increasing press of teeth and --

     "Tips," James says, feeling faint. "Right."

     Cortez laughs, then comes over and hauls him up. "Come on, Romeo. Shift's over; let's get you a drink. Then we'll at least have an excuse for why you look like you got run over by a truck."

     Yeah. So James goes with him, and they head up to the lounge, and nobody's there but Tali and Liara but they both look at him oddly. He's hoping interspecies body language isn't universal because otherwise they're going to see HOLY SHIT I MIGHT GET TO TOUCH ALENKO'S ASS written all over him, and that would just be messed-up.

     But it's the end of civilization, right? And he doesn't want to meet his maker without at least having tried for something he wants. Someone. He wants.

     _Later_ , Alenko had said.

     _Okay, then_ , James thinks giddily.

     Later.


	2. Chapter 2

     It's his imagination. James is sure of it. There's nothing different about the way Alenko looks at him lately. Those eyes don't slide over him like slow dark honey, lingering on his tats, his hands, his mouth. Alenko's not saying anything different -- just the usual pleasantries, a bit more banter now that James has broken the ice, nothing of innuendo. His voice isn't lower and different somehow, smoother, more of that little burr in it that makes all the stuff south of James' belt tighten and resonate like skin being stroked.

     It's in his head. He's dreaming. Flirting's flirting and all, but Alenko's so far out of his league that -- he should just give it up. He knows this. But giving up isn't really something he knows how to do.

     Thing is, he's not sure what to do next. 'Cause Alenko said _later_ , and to James that means _don't push me and let me think about it_ , and he confers with Cortez and Cortez thinks that's what it means too, so he's kind of left with his figurative dick in his hand, which is soooo not the metaphor he ought to be using in this context. So he goes on about his business, and Shepard takes him to Thessia where Kai Leng hands him his own ass twice over, and he's so _mad_ at himself for getting knocked out that he barely notices how Shepard's madder, and they snipe at each other in a meeting until she shuts him down and sends him down to the cargo bay to work it off. So he hits the bar and is on his hundred-fiftieth pull-up when he finally notices Alenko on the other side of the bay, leaning against the prepped shuttle, and watching him.

     It fucks him up completely. He yelps and jerks in surprise and loses his grip because his hands are sweaty and he falls and nearly _falls_ and it's fucking hideous. But he doesn't have time to curse himself out for turning into Doofass McClumsybuns because Alenko's striding across the bay, and Cortez isn't here, and _where the fuck is Cortez?_ It's just the two of them.

     James reaches for a towel. _Be cool. Be cool. Be cool._ "Didn't see you there, MM. Make some noise next time."

     "Well, there was the elevator," Alenko says, stopping to lean against the wall of James' office. He's smiling. It's doing things to James again. "Figured you heard me. Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

     "Eh, no biggie." James wipes his hands, which sting with fresh sweat. Alenko's in shipside fatigues. "Not here to exercise, I'm guessing?"

     "No. I just came down to see how you were doing. And here I find you making my twenty pull-ups look like nothing. What's your record?"

     "Hundred eighty-two," James says. He's blushing. Fuck. He focuses on his hands. "And don't feel bad. Not like I got shit else to do, much as Shepard calls on me."

     "Yeah. That's the thing." Alenko looks away. "I just told Shepard she needs to use you more."

     James blinks, stares at him, forgetting all the other shit for a moment. "Huh?"

     Alenko shrugs. "She's relying too much on the people she shipped out with last tour," he says. "Not that I blame her. If I were her, I'd trust the people who were willing to go on a suicide mission with me more than the ones who weren't, too."

     There's something bleak in his expression, and it makes James want to touch him, comfort him. He remembers overhearing Garrus mention it to Tali, though, and he knows it's why there was tension between the two Spectres for awhile: Alenko wouldn't work for Shepard while she was with Cerberus, because fucking Cerberus. Only, Shepard had read that as Alenko not wanting to help when she was trying to save human lives and facing near-certain death. They've worked it out, since. There was friendship between them again, if strained. But -- oh, and suddenly James feels like shit, because he hadn't _noticed_ \-- Shepard hasn't been asking Kaidan along on missions much, either.

     "That's, uh," James says, weakly, "thanks." It's barely even language. _Way to impress, dumbass._ "What'd she say?"

     "That she'd think about it." Alenko smiles. It's _sad_ , that smile. A lot of Alenko's smiles are sad, come to think of it. "And she really will. I think she's beginning to realize she's putting too much pressure on some of us, not enough on others; she's got to spread it out. And take some off herself, before we _all_ crack. I heard her say something about shore leave."

     James frowns. "In the middle of a war?"

     "We're making mistakes. Not just her; all of us." He looks up at James again, and James realizes Alenko's alluding to his fight with Shepard in the meeting. Not that it was much of a fight. James knows his place, he just pushes against it a little, and Shepard sometimes allows him to. Not today, though. "We won't do anyone any good if we're not at our best."

     James can't help thinking of Earth. He imagines people dying while they try to relax. "Ehn. If you say so, MM."

     "You sound like I feel about it. But I'm coming around." It's soft, kind, and there's that burr again. "It was almost soothing, watching you go at it." He jerks his head toward the bar James had been using for his pullups.

     "Soothing?" It seems ludicrous, and it pulls a laugh out of James, makes him relax, which is probably why something comes out of his mouth that he never would say if he was thinking clearly: "Thought you didn't like to just watch, though."

     There's a pause, and James' belly clenches, because they're looking at each other and he can see the flirtation sink in, and work itself around in Alenko's head, and he's not sure what will pop back out. But then: "That's right," Alenko says, and the burr is back, and James' cock twitches at the _look_ in his face. "I don't like to watch. Not for _long_."

     Then he turns and saunters out past Cortez, who's coming in, and then Cortez is staring from the elevator doors to James' face. Cortez starts to grin.

     "Shut up, Esteban," James says, turning away so the other man won't see him blush.

#

     James can take or leave the Citadel -- bunch of rich, lucky bastards, safe and comfy in civilization while people on Earth are squatting in burned-out buildings and _dying_ \-- but he can't bring himself to feel that way about Shepard's new apartment. Or her, of course, or Anderson; it's one thing to live it up when you haven't earned it, but those two sure as fuck have.

     The party's awesome, if initially too laid-back for his tastes. It gets better. And maybe in his enthusiasm James gets a little too free with the cerveza, and maybe he chases some of it with Cortez's tequila, and maybe Shepard's got some asari shit at the bar that tastes like sex feels, and maybe he's shooting off his mouth more than he should. But that's how he finds himself floating five feet off the floor, held there like some kind of bigass pinata by Liara while the other biotics snicker.

     It's amazing, and actually fucking hilarious. But, uh, it also, uh, feels kind of, uh, whoa. He's glad his pants are loose. And when Alenko folds his arms and smiles and asks Liara if he can try, James really really really hopes she doesn't let him, because he thinks maybe creaming his pants front of a bunch of laughing partygoers might be the worst thing ever.

     Liara doesn't let Alenko have him. Whew. After she lets James down, he laughs it off and says he's going to get some more beer but really he heads to that sweet room with the punching bag and hides in the closet awhile, hoping his dick will sit down and shut up.

     Eventually it does. And then James comes out of the closet to find Alenko _right fucking there_ , leaning against the bedroom's doorsill, with two beers in his hands.

     "I think you went the wrong way, Vega, if you were looking for another drink."

     "Oh, uh," James says. Alenko sets the beers down and -- looking dead at James as he does it -- reaches back to pull the door shut. Oh, fuck.

     "Wasn't really kidding," Alenko says, sauntering over, "about giving you a try with my biotics."

     James licks his lips. "I kinda got the impression, uh," he begins.

     "Yes?" God, Alenko's not blinking. It's something James has noticed about him on the battlefield, something all biotics do but Alenko does _more_ , when he's focusing and amping up and getting ready to unleash biotic hell on some poor pendejo in a Cerberus uniform. It's scary, and it's hot, and it's probably kind of fucked-up that James thinks scary is hot, and holy hell what is wrong with him.

     So James licks his lips again. Gonna chap at this rate. "I got the feeling, uh, that what Liara did was kinda like... I dunno. Not something that really oughtta happen at parties, y'know, man? B-between strangers."

     "It's not." Alenko stops. He's not the biggest guy -- bigger than Cortez, smaller than Shepard, way smaller than James, but in this moment it feels like he fills the room. "When I take hold of something with my biotics, I can... feel... every contour and detail of its surface with my mind." He shrugs, slides his hands into his pockets. "Even through clothing. It's something we were taught not to do for that reason, at Jump Zero -- but I guess since the asari don't really think about modesty the way humans and turians do, Liara didn't think anything of it."

     "Jesus." James blushes, realizing Liara basically just felt him up. Well, payback for all the times he's jerked off to thoughts of her ass. "Yeah, I guess not."

     Alenko nods. He's still not blinking, his eyes searching James', though God knows for what. "Would you let me try what she did?"

     His voice is soft. He knows what he's asking for. James feels himself go still. He knows what underlies the request. They've been dancing around it for weeks.

     Like it's even a question.

     "Hell, yeah," James breathes. "Do it."

     Alenko blinks. Something in James relaxes a little, seeing that hint of uncertainty. "Just like that?"

     The bed's so nearby. He can't stop thinking about it. James swallows. "Don't know a sure thing when you see it, MM?"

     Alenko's eyes widen just a little -- and then darken, in concentration and something else that James is too afraid to guess might be want.

     Then he starts to glow. James can't get enough of seeing him like this, blue sparks crawling over his skin, but then the sparks are on _him_ and it's nothing like when Liara did it. Her "grasp" was perfunctory, impersonal, just a tingle. Alenko's -- shit. It's like a sting and a caress, irritating and soothing at once. It _buzzes_ , like, oh hell, like a vibrator, and he really doesn't need to think about toys right now. The sensation starts at his chest and spreads up and down, warming out over his shoulders, tickling down his belly, and when it stirs his nipples he bites his lip. The buzz teases his lip loose and makes him gasp. It wraps around his neck -- shit, shit, he _loves_ having his neck touched, and the energy feels like a tongue and, and -- it crawls over his ass and it's better than hands. It curls 'round his thighs, his calves, tickles the backs of his knees, makes his toes spread wide, which is good because he's in the air now, hovering a few inches. He barely notices because _oh shit_ there's that feeling again, the sting and caress at his crotch, and this part is _way_ different from what Liara did. When he got hard then, for her, it was simple stimulation. Now --

     He opens his eyes, panting through the blue haze, and sees the way Alenko's looking at him while dark energy slowly swallows James' cock. "Madre de _Dios_ ," he whispers.

     Alenko doesn't smile, though his blue-glowing eyes seem to warm beneath the crackle of power. He doesn't speak, either -- oh, but fuck, oh, but _yeah_ , all of a sudden the stinging caress is more intense, everywhere but especially _there_ , and there's a kind of rhythm to it, like a steady stroking pulse. It feels so good. James wants to fight the pleasure, share it somehow, he doesn't want to be selfish, but _it feels so fucking good_ , and it's been so long. It's sex and it's not. Alenko's sting-caress is sliding down his back as he arches, over his tongue as he opens his mouth and fights not to moan, over his fingers as his hands clench. What the fuck do you even call something like this? It's like a whole-body blowjob, better, beautiful, and, and, and _shit_ , oh shit, oh --

     "I -- " He's shaking, and maybe whimpering. "Fuck, MM, I don't think I can -- "

     "I know," Alenko says, and it's so sure, so accepting, that James just, he can't, it's too much. He drags a hand up through the sparkling energy and bites down on the heel of it, and for a few blistering seconds that's the only part of him that feels real. The rest is relaying off into the galactic core; the rest is hammering down like a Thanix; the rest has disippated into the vastness of space and makes the Reapers feel small and unimportant and nothing.

     He returns to himself slumped back against the punching bag, surprised that he's even this much on his feet. He can't think. But he can stare in glaze-eyed wonder at Alenko, who comes forward then and kisses him.

     It's almost sweet. Almost gentle. James is too gone to really feel it, or know what he's feeling, but he gets that there's something more to the kiss. Something raw and hungry and challenging. He can't think beyond that.

     After a moment Alenko pulls away and touches his omni-tool. James feels his own omni-tool haptic-signal acknowledgement. "Found a decent hotel in Zakera Ward," Alenko says. That fucking burr in his voice; if James hadn't just come like a goddamn freight train he would shudder in ecstasy at the sound. "That's the address and room. Party's pretty much done, so I'm heading home now." For the first time since he closed the door, Alenko's gaze softens, and his mouth curves in a smile. "When you've, ah, recovered. No rush."

     He's out, leaving the door open behind him, and James keeps leaning on the bag, mindless, until Tali stumbles by and waves drunkenly at him. He waves back, drunk on endorphins and promises and wait wait WAIT _holy shit Alenko just invited him over_.

     He blinks, straightens, blinks again. Then he heads out of the room, picking up his jacket and turning toward the apartment door.

     "Had enough, Mr. Vega?"

     He only turns back because it's Cortez, calling out to him from the couch where -- heyo -- Cortez has his head resting in Massani's lap. Welp.

     "I'm just getting _started_ , Esteban," James replies with a grin, and heads out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'm gonna write at least one more chapter. :)


	3. Chapter 3

     James is walking down the corridor towards Alenko's hotel room when he suddenly remembers that he forgot to finish his research.

     Cortez has given him tips, of course, as James sat there and blushed and squirmed and tried not to look alternately embarrassed and aroused. And, y'know, he's heard stuff in the showers, and the barracks. If there's one thing that all soldiers do, regardless of species or military branch, it's talk about sex. So he knows, like, what goes where, and, and stuff like that. It's just that... He stops in the corridor, suddenly sweating, suddenly afraid. God, he wants this. Alenko is... he's just... so perfect, and strong, but also sad, and maybe a little lonely, and, and... James just wants to make him feel good. He doesn't want to be a disappointment.

     He bites his lip. He didn't come straight here anyway -- stopped at the ship for a shower and a change of underwear, after what Alenko did to him at Shep's place. The invitation's open. Their shore leave won't end for a few days. He can leave now, try to figure out how to do a good job of, uh, stuff, come back tomorrow night.

     But everything in him cries out against this. A day to think is a day to doubt, and to second-guess, and to back out. And --

     Jesus. He _wants_ , man. He just wants Alenko so fucking much. And even if it means being clumsy and maybe messing things up, and making a fool of himself, he has to try.

     So he swallows, and tells himself to be cool, and wipes his hands on his pants, and goes up to the door.

     Alenko opens it after a minute, and the breath goes out of James' lungs. Alenko's been in the shower too, clearly; he's wearing a robe, and his hair's wet. It's the first time James has ever seen his hair be anything but perfect. And it's the first time he's ever seen pure, naked want on Alenko's face: his brows drawn down, his mouth open, his breath coming hard, his body tense. James tries to say, "Hey," it's just the "h" sound, because Alenko doesn't give him time for more. He nods at the sight of James, almost to himself, then grabs the front of James' fatigues and drags him into the room.

     They're kissing before the door slides shut, and it's everything the kiss back at Shepard's was not -- fierce, painful, demanding. Nothing _almost_ about it. His hands fist in James' shirt, keeping James' mouth where he obviously wants it, and James is helpless, lost in soft tongue and firm lips and sharp teeth and quickening breath. Alenko presses him back against the hotel room door and grinds; James is bigger but they're the same height so it's cock on cock through their clothes, and Alenko's hard as shit within that robe. James can only play catch-up, which is easy because he feels like nothing else matters but touching this man's skin. He fumbles for Alenko's arms, gets the terrycloth of the robe and groans in frustration, then feels the flex of muscle underneath as Alenko pulls James' shirt up. There are hands on his back, on his sides, pressing and gripping, the nails pricking a little, a sting-caress that makes James fleetingly wonder whether Alenko's doing that biotic thing, only he's not glowing, his eyes are open and boring into James' as he takes James' mouth but it's all physical, nothing of magic, only that's a goddamned lie.

     Alenko lets go of James' mouth to pull back and haul his shirt off, and then he's back, _biting_ James' lip as his hands yank open his pants, and James cries out as Alenko's hand is suddenly on his cock, stroking and exploring like he fucking owns it. The pants fall around James' ankles; he almost stumbles trying to toe the boots off and kick the pants away but Alenko doesn't let him fall, or escape. But then abruptly Alenko does pull away, leaving James panting and bare and bereft against the door.

     "I, I don't," he begins, shaking his head and blinking as if trying to wake up from some kind of spell.

     "Uh-uh," James says. He's fucking _aching_ , and Alenko's right there. He pushes away from the wall and cups Alenko's face in his hands. "C'mon, MM." It's a plea. He doesn't know for what. He doesn't know what's made Alenko balk, either, but he _needs_ this now, needs it and doesn't even know what he needs. He needs Alenko to know -- "C'mon, man, please, I'll, anything, whatever you want, just, shit."

     Alenko's gaze darkens again, which is a good thing, because the doubt is gone now. He takes James' wrists in a hard grip and backs up. There's a bed behind him so James comes willingly, desperately. They fall into it and James is on top so he props himself on one arm and gropes blindly with the other hand and kisses him again, mouths are so fucking amazing, and his hand finds terrycloth over hard muscle before it fumbles and finally gets the damned robe open and then finds skin, skin, glorious skin. Alenko moans into his mouth; James wants to cheer. Then it's ribs and a flank and a bony hip and a long, strong thigh, he wants all of it, slides his hand up and down for the sheer joy if being able to, he's touching Alenko's ass and everything else. Well, not everything. But that's okay, 'cause Alenko's obviously feeling kind of impatient; he grabs James' hand and drags it to his cock.

     James hauls free of his mouth. "Fucking _hell_ , man." Alenko groans and shuts his eyes, maybe in agreement. His cock is hot and heavy against James' fingers, smooth when he slides his palm over its length, so weird to touch another guy, so hot to touch _this_ guy. He can't think. He pushes back and grabs Alenko's hips to hold him still and drags his tongue up the underside of that perfect cock, balls to slit, like he's dreamt of doing, like, forever.

     Alenko _shouts_. And he glows for an instant, like he's catching fire. The sting-caressing flicker of his biotics is beautiful and James wants that, too, part of Alenko, part of this moment. So he licks again, and then he's got that sweet cock in his mouth, and he's suckling, and it's perfect, smooth hot skin gliding along his tongue. Better still it drags more of those cries and sparkings out of Alenko until this becomes all that they are: sucking and sliding and sparking and shouting, everything James has ever wanted from life.

     But Alenko grabs him by the hair and hauls him up suddenly. He's smaller than James but still a solid guy, and the biotics make him more so when he rolls them over. The world narrows again for James, this time becoming nothing but hot skin on his own, hot breath in his ear, hot strong hands searching his body, and a hot, hard, cock grinding wetly against his own. " _Fuck_. MM, that's. God." It feels like God. Alenko makes a rough, intent sound in his ear, and there's a shift in their weight, like he's trying to get away. "Please." James tries to grab him, hold him, but the biotics make him slippery, and also delicious to touch. James strokes his back, his ass (!! perfect round tight !!). When Alenko pushes up on one arm, maybe to get a good look at James or whatever, James can't help himself: there's a nipple right in front of him and it's calling his name. He latches on and tongues it deep and his reward is Alenko's burr-voice breathing, "Oh, God." So James holds his waist and keeps lapping and pressing at that nipple, suckling now and again, loving the way it grows tight and hard against his lips, loving even more the way Alenko shudders whenever he does something right.

     Then Alenko pulls away and cups James' head, making him keep sitting up to stay within that grip, making James look at him, and the hunger in Alenko's face is fucking amazing. "I want to come inside you," he says. First full sentence of the hour. James shudders all over, panting.

     "Yeah," he says, 'cause _yeah_.

     "C'mon."

     James turns over onto his belly, and shivers as Alenko straddles his hips. There's the sound of an omni-tool being activated, and a quick materialization, for what James doesn't know. He's not sure he cares. But one of Alenko's hands is on his ass, and there's -- shit -- whoa -- a finger -- _Dios mio_ \-- sliding into him. Alenko's other hand is on his shoulder, fingering the tattoo there, and the twin sensations, within and without, confident and tentative, are so different and strange together that he can only grip the sheets and groan.

     "You're a beautiful man," Alenko says, softly. "I could feel that, earlier, with my biotics, but..." His fingers finally move away from the tat, dance down James' spine. "I like seeing it. Touching it the old-fashioned way."

     "Nnh," James says. There's two fingers in him now, flexing in and out, and it's the weirdest shit he's ever felt. He risks a glance back and realizes Alenko's activated some kind of mini-shield for his hand. That's why the fingers are sliding in and out so easily, no friction, just stretching.

     Alenko's mouth is open and wet as he watches his fingers go in and out of James. His cock rests on James' thigh, hot and heavy and ready. James shudders and has to look away, but that doesn't help. He can hear the sound of Alenko's fingers moving, his breath coming light and quick, the Citadel traffic humming outside the window like a chorus.

     "I've been -- wanting you," Alenko breathes. James freezes, breath catching, his eyes going wide. "I thought, rank, and you weren't interested, and." James feels him shake his head. "But you were. And rank -- " He laughs softly, a little wildly. "Hell, I just shot my boss."

     James never thought he would be grateful to Udina for being a betraying shitstain.

     Alenko leans down, and the warmth of him, the weight of him, is dizzying. His free hand slides under James' chest; his mouth is on James' shoulder. And it's three fingers behind, inside, working slow and steady. James has never wanted this before, but fuck yeah he wants it now.

     Maybe Alenko hears this, or reads it in his body somehow. The fingers slide out. There's something else, a blunt probing, and this is unexpectedly hot; James shudders and lifts his hips because his cock throbs. That's what Alenko needs, obviously, because then the probing is a pushing, and a burning, and it's scary and it hurts, but then Alenko groans softly, and his hand grips James' hip tightly, and that's so fucking hot that James stops thinking about the discomfort.

     Then it's so, it's so, shit it's, _Alenko's fucking him_. They're fucking. Alenko's hand slides under him and tugs his cock, and James hears himself make a wild, helpless sound. He feels helpless, laid open and bare, but Alenko's hand on him is sure and strong, and Alenko's breath in his ear is rhythmic and reassuring, and Alenko's weight on him is welcome and warm. He loses himself in it a little, comes back to hear himself making pleading, hoarse sounds, feeling Alenko shudder and quicken in turn. When James comes it's terrible, because he doesn't want it to end, but also a relief, because he thinks he thinks he might die. He does die, a little, and comes back to life screaming into the mattress, with Alenko a hard relentless clap behind him. He dies again when Alenko comes, deep inside him as he wanted, clutching James' chest and grinding against him and shuddering and gasping, "James, oh, oh my God," which is the first time he's ever said James' name.

     After, it's quiet. Alenko moves off of him and the omni-tool field vaporizes and they both lie there, a few inches between them, cooling off and catching up. James can't think. He feels good. Little raw in the back, but so good everywhere else that this is a nothing thing. He feels good too because it's Alenko next to him, Alenko who sounds exhausted and sated and who smells like sex and good dreams.

     So after awhile James rolls his head to the side for a look at him. He's not really surprised to find Alenko looking back already.

     "You good?" he asks. Alenko nods. He's not smiling, though, and that makes James nervous again. Maybe he sucked. Maybe this is it, all he gets, Alenko's done with him. He doesn't want this to be it.

     But Alenko says, "You said you were a sure thing."

     James chews his lip. "Yeah. I mean." He shrugs. If Alenko wants.

     Alenko's gaze is soft and his hair is a wreck. It makes him look gentle, though James knows now that he isn't. It makes him feel human, which James now knows that he is.

     "I need a sure thing," Alenko says. "I need one thing in my life to be sure."

     James swallows. _Be cool._ He sits up on one elbow, tries to pretend that he doesn't want to fucking shout what he casually says. "I can be that."

     Alenko's searching his face. "Just like that?"

     He can't stay casual. Not beneath that gaze. Not with this man, who has known more of him than any other, and whom he wants to give more still. "You're what I want," he says, simply. "You're _everything_ I want."

     There's a moment in which Alenko seems surprised, grateful, humbled, frightened. It's not something James ever expected to see in him. It's weird and awesome. Then Alenko lets out a breath like he's relieved, and licks his lips like he was uncertain, and nods a little like he's reassuring himself. And then he smiles. Like he's glad.

     James is glad, too.

     So he lies back down, still looking at Alenko, and scooches closer when he thinks Alenko won't mind, and brushes the backs of his fingers against Alenko's hip to see if that's okay, and breathes on Alenko's ear when maybe that's cool. And after a few minutes of this, Alenko -- Kaidan? Kaidan -- lets out a raspy chuckle and turns over and pulls James close. It gets a little clumsy and tangled, which is nice, but things end up with James on his back and Kaidan curled against him, head pillowed on the crook of his shoulder. That's nicer still.

     So, yeah, he'll take it. It's good. And with the scent of Kaidan's hair like hope and home in his nose, he exults quietly for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that's it, folks. Nice to scratch that itch.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Nature Therapy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2539028) by [wargoddess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wargoddess/pseuds/wargoddess)
  * [[podfic] Physical Training](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12053772) by [gwyllgi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyllgi/pseuds/gwyllgi)




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